You will find one some day, and you will love him and be loved by him, and you will be happy with him as your father and I have been happy with each other.

And there is one thing you must always carry in mind--" "Yes, mother." Mrs.Morse's voice was low and sweet as she said, "And that is the children." "I--have thought about them," Ruth confessed, remembering the wanton thoughts that had vexed her in the past, her face again red with maiden shame that she should be telling such things.
"And it is that, the children, that makes Mr.Eden impossible," Mrs.
Morse went on incisively.

"Their heritage must be clean, and he is, I am afraid, not clean.

Your father has told me of sailors' lives, and--and you understand." Ruth pressed her mother's hand in assent, feeling that she really did understand, though her conception was of something vague, remote, and terrible that was beyond the scope of imagination.
"You know I do nothing without telling you," she began.

"-- Only, sometimes you must ask me, like this time.